


Thursday.

by MyBlackCrimsonRose



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bisexual Kuroo, Depression, Domestic, Doubts and Insecurities, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grey-Asexual Ushijima, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, M/M, Oral Sex, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Song fic, Sports injuries, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6886243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlackCrimsonRose/pseuds/MyBlackCrimsonRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He fell in love on a Thursday while visiting the pub he liked, just like every other Thursday before then to have a few drinks before going home and enjoying his Friday off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll add a second part to this (or a second chapter). It will depends on how I feel. But I listened to a lot of songs while writing this. I created an UshiKuro mix on 8tracks if you're interested. There's a few of the songs I've used on there. Along with the main one of "Runnin'" By Adam Lambert.
> 
>  
> 
> ["Hello Hello Love" An UshiKuroo Playlist](http://8tracks.com/shadowsheyla/hello-hello-love)

**[ _Thursday:_** _An UshiKuro story_ **]**

 

 

He fell in love on a Thursday while visiting the pub he liked, just like every other Thursday before then to have a few drinks before going home and enjoying his Friday off (before returning to work on the Saturday). His family’s company was traditional in the sense that they wanted the men of the family to inherit it; his grandparents passed it down to his uncle, and because his uncle had daughters it was going down to him instead.

It wasn’t in his place to comment, not when he was insured a job once his days of volleyball had finished and the (so called) _real world_ called him back. And it was funny, for such a traditional family they expected only the most traditional of unions for him. But how could he state that, while he wasn’t prone to feeling sexual attraction, he had a history of only finding _men_ sexually pleasing (the few and infrequent times that he did). He was waiting for the day that _that_ discussion would come to fruition.

Ushijima nodded towards the band setting up on stage, the bartender’s knuckles knocking against the counter. “They normally don’t play weekdays but Kuroo wanted to play today for a friend’s birthday or something—I think the guy wanted to see them play so,” he shrugged taking Ushijima’s glass away and filling it with a new batch of ice and whiskey, sliding it back towards him. “Kuroo’s that dude with the messy black head of hair—tattoos.”

Yeah, Ushijima’s eyes latched to the details prickled into the man’s tanned flesh. The large red blossomed rose on the man’s neck, opened and petals looking to begin their downward spiral. What he could see of the collection of art covering both arms, his neck and hands, it was all very beautiful. A starry night sky, birds and cats beneath it, more floral patterns—it was beautiful, truly art on skin.

“Tiny guy back there is Yaku; doesn’t like mentioning his height, but it’s hard not to notice. Last one, the dark skinned dude—yeah, that’s Kai. Cool dude, chill. Call themselves Nekoma. Don’t have bad of a sound.”

Ushijima’s gaze passed over the other two before settling back on Kuroo. What he would do to that man if he could get his hands on him. Wondering how far those tattoos went, what type of designs that shirt may be hiding—Ushijima brought his glass to his lips. He nodded to the bartender, “thank you.”

The guy nodded back, tapping his knuckles against the bar. “Enjoy the show,” he said in parting, crossing to the other side to take an order.

And he did. When the band started, Kai slipped back behind the drums with Yaku slid the bass over his head, tuning the instrument as the gathered crowd hooted and hollered. It was a lot livelier than his typical Thursday; a large crowd gathered around the stage as the band started up. Kuroo chuckled into the microphone, talking calmly to the crowd and cracking jokes as he calmly strummed a few notes on the guitar in his arms. “Hey, I just want to say happy birthday to my bro Koutarou. I fucking love you man, you’re the best-est friend I could ever ask for—and Keiji, dude, you’re a saint for wanting to sleep with that sexy owl every night.”

The crowd laughed, the man that Ushijima could only assume was Bokuto called back to Kuroo. “Hoot hoot motherfucker! Now play some fucking music before I get any older!” And Kuroo laughed; it wasn’t a pretty laugh, one of the kinds that doubled someone over and rocked their whole body. But the _joy_ on his face stole Ushijima’s breath away.

He wanted to see every type of laugh that man had. Wanted to see him when he was smiling, when he was angry, when tears ran down his face—Ushijima wanted to experience every single moment, every single expression that man could possibly offer. He’d accept it and greedily ask for more.

Their sound was rock, fun—throwing covers of popular radio pop music in with their mix. Kuroo’s voice flowed; so raw in tone as he sang each individual lyric, every word packed a punch. Turning his guts to mush, to a flutter of feeling—so raw and wild.

[ _“Am I looking like this? Tell me, am I looking like this? No not at all, you can't control. You think I'm showy but I'm not at all.”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VC9b2E-imzw) A hand leaving his guitar to cup around the mike, body tilting, leaning down and rocking back up as he sang. Eyes sliding shut as he seemed to make love to the very music, no matter the tempo or genre. Everything was so… _charged_.

The audience could feel it as well, their bodies moving, dancing to the music. Laughter reaching Ushijima’s ears and it did nothing to dull the music, only seeming to drive him further into the spell.

One song turned to another. And that turned to another.

The hours passed in a daze, a blur of one song after the other. Nursing that second glass, Ushijima felt far drunker than he should be. When he finally tore his attention from the stage the band was saying their closing comments, thanking the establishment and the crowd, their friends and their fans. “Hey Teru,” Kuroo spoke into the mike, pointing towards the bar. The bartender nodding holding up a thumbs up.

The crowd began to thin; dispersing towards the door or tables to either leave or linger, a handful of people staying by the stage to talk with the band as they went about getting their things together. Organizing it easier so they could drag it off when it was time for them to leave. Kuroo patted a few individuals’ shoulders, slipping off the stage and through the group to the bar where the bartender placed a bottle of beer (the label was turned away from Ushijima so he could not make out the brand) and a bottle of water beside it.

“Good job,” Ushijima could hear the bartender congratulate him before his voice lowered enough that the background music now playing drowned out their conversation. He looked away for but a second, just a _second_ , and suddenly Kuroo’s eyes were upon him. Golden-like irises (maybe technically hazel, but they looked a rich gold in the pub’s lighting) boring into him, slim black eyebrows arching upwards before a smirk broke out over those features. Turning back to the bartender, _Teru_ , Kuroo clapped the bar top and bid him Aude.

He had longer legs than he thought, they looked longer close up then when they were up on that stage. Those black tight jeans looked like they were painted on, that he’d need to _cut_ them off him to get him out. When his eyes traced back up the man’s form Kuroo was grinning, leaning up against the bar beside him. “Now isn’t _that look_ promising,” he winked, holding a hand out towards Ushijima. “Name’s Kuroo Tetsurou.”

 _Tetsurou—_ what a lovely name for him.

Ushijima took his hand, his grip strong in his as they shook. “Ushijima Wakatoshi,” he answered, touch lingering before falling back to their respective beverages. He could hear the man beside him muttering his name, memorizing it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before. Just passing through?” his head quirked to the side, golden-like eyes staring, _watching_. Flicking over Ushijima’s face, taking each detail of him.

“I don’t come in on weekends.”

Kuroo only laughed, “Dude. I _work here_. Don’t tell me you only show up on Thursday’s.” Ushijima stared; stunned (a little) at the fact that he could’ve met the Adonis before him earlier if only he drank more, and also not having an appropriate answer for him. He _did_ only come in on Thursday. “Well _shit_ ,” the man whistled, eyes wide. “I need to start working on Thursdays then.”

He brought the bottle to his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank—one gulp, two, three. Golden gaze staring him down, stabbing holes into his very being. “Would you like to come home with me?” Ushijima inquired, draining the remaining contents of his glass.

The bottle fell away from his lips, smile evident upon his features. “Let me just tell my boys that I’m heading out, then I’m all yours.”

 **[** _Steel to my trembling lips,_  
How did the night ever get like this?  
One shot and the whiskey goes down, down, down **]**

They’re on the elevator up to Ushijima’s apartment when Kuroo’s hands find their way to his hips, holding him while he presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. They had spent the short ride to his apartment with Kuroo talking about working at the pub while still playing weekly gigs—how he was thinking of giving away more hours of work so they could play four days a week instead of their normal three (which is a big thing, if Kuroo’s word is anything to go from).

“I forgot to mention it earlier, but I think you look hot in that suit.” It wasn’t one of his best suits, just a light grey pants and jacket set with a matching tie. Something that his family wouldn’t turn their noses up at when he’d show up to work. Kuroo’s deft fingers pulled at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from his pants. “But I’m looking forward to it being _off_ more than anything.”

Ushijima chortled, leaning towards the man to place his own peck against his skin. “I would rather that,” he answered, taking the man’s hand when the elevator finally dinged on the seventh floor. The doors opening to allow them to leave.

It wasn’t as fancy as his family would have wanted for him—no penthouse suit, or house with some yard where he can have his hypothetical son and wife to greet him once he’d return from work with dinner on the table and all that industrial revolution aged mentality. No, instead Ushijima had a two bedroom apartment with a balcony that he kept his small garden on. He had two cats that came running when he opened the door and led Kuroo into the dark apartment. He had dark themed furniture instead, spending his money instead on those goods instead of some house he wouldn’t love nor care for. Leather couches, state of the art fridge and stove, new washer and dryer, dishwasher, dark wooden table and matching chairs—he did _that_ instead to appease his family.

It seemed to work for Kuroo as well, if the low whistle was anything to go from. Ushijima shrugged, kicking off his shoes before reaching down and taking hold of his two cats. Both were black; one with a mixture of orange with black, the other white and black. “I hope you don’t mind cats,” Ushijima flushed, holding his beloved kittens to his chest.

Kuroo smiled, “dude I have _three_. I _love_ cats—trust me, I’m good.”

The man sighed, nodding at his answer. He led them away from the door and deeper into the apartment, setting the cats down on the couch before taking Kuroo’s hand and coaxing him onwards. Kuroo wiggled his hand free, rushing forwards to crowd up against Ushijima. Wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck he pulled him in for a kiss just as their momentum carried them into a wall.

Their lips pressed, teeth digging into the insides of their lips before parting. Teeth knocking, faces tilting to provide easier access as their tongues met. The kiss was devouring, it was wet—hands gripped hair, they gripped clothes. Ushijima couldn’t think of hour else to describe it; it was all consuming. It was _raw_ , powerful. The kiss made his insides tight, made his lungs burn and lips tingle.

“Bedroom,” Kuroo mumbled, voice muffled as Ushijima claimed his lips and tongue anew. His finger dug into Ushijima’s shirt collar, pulling them away from one another with a lewd wet _pop_. “Bedroom,” Kuroo panted, golden eyes nearly swallowed whole by pupil.

Ushijima nodded, grabbing hold of those wonderfully tattooed shoulders he dragged him through the open door to his bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him. Kuroo’s hands pulled, working the buttons of his shirt free and pushing the soft fabric from Ushijima’s shoulders. The dark cloth fell to the floor, forgotten as the tattooed man pressed open mouthed kisses to Ushijima’s shoulders, to his muscled pectorals.

Long calloused fingers mapped over stomach, over the line of hair trailing down his navel. “Take off your clothes,” Ushijima’s voice rumbled, breaking Kuroo out of his exploring. The tattooed man smirked, placing one last little nip to Ushijima’s chest before backing off. Stepping backwards, back and back all the further towards the bed. Fingers worming under the cut off sleeved shirt, dropping it to the floor by his feet with a roll of his shoulders.

He sat back on the bed, falling further back onto his elbows and crooking his finger in a _come hither_ motion. Ushijima unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops and dropping it to the floor as he followed the request. Sliding up between Kuroo’s knees with a hand flat against his tattooed chest—he didn’t take the time yet to note the markings, he’ll do that later. “I apologize in advance, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this last.”

Kuroo chuckled, leg raised to hook high around the man’s waist. Rolling them, Kuroo perched himself high upon Ushijima’s waist. Head held high, chin pointed towards the ceiling as he ground back against the hardening cock beneath his ass. “So have you got _stuff_ ,” he purred, grinding back again.

Ushijima’s face pinched, biting his lip as he fought off a groan. “I might, though they’ll no doubt be expired.” Kuroo laughed, mouth hanging open as his cackled up to the ceiling, his fingers curling against Ushijima’s muscular stomach.

He grinned, leftover from his laughter as he regarded the man beneath him fondly. “Then let’s take a rain cheque for that and have some fun in a _different way_.” His brows waggled, leaning over to cage the man between his arms.

Ushijima could only nod at that—what else did you expect him to do? When a beautiful man tells you he wants to come back for another round of sexual desires and pleasure you simply nod your head and agree. “I want to suck your cock.” _Now_ Ushijima was certainly never going to turn _that_ down.

Kuroo slinked further back, pushing up from the bed and the man beneath him to drop between his knees. Ushijima pushed himself up onto his elbows, brown eyes zeroed in on the man between his thighs. Nimble fingers tugging on pale gray work slacks, the button and zipper holding it secure against Ushijima’s waist. “Would you like assistance?”

Kuroo’s cheeks erupted in an embarrassed flush. He leaned back to give the man room, scratching at the back of his head bashfully. “Got a little excited there, didn’t I?” Golden eyes twinkled, gleaming as Ushijima sat up to shed his pants, his plain deep blue briefs.

He cupped the man’s cheek, “cute,” Ushijima whispered, thumb sliding over those bruised succulent lips. Over the tanned skin of his cheek, his chin, his jaw. Kuroo’s eyes shining, widened as he leaned into the sweet and careful touch. Nuzzling against the man’s palm, placing one small peck to the inside of his wrist before switching back to his task that he had originally fumbled in his excitement.

“Shut up.”

His breath, hot and close, brushed against Ushijima’s cock—it was the only thing that served as a _warning_ before Kuroo’s mouth swallowed him down. Tongue pressed flat against the underside, lips covering his teeth— _shit_. “Fuck,” Ushijima hissed, head thrown back as the man between his thighs groaned around him. The vibrations sending another burst of pleasure throughout him.

Ushijima had always been sensitive during sex, his normally numb body seemed to ignite with some spark that wouldn’t be stated until he’d orgasm. And the rare feelings would overcome him, would throw all resolve and patience that he had in himself and his body out that window and wouldn’t return until much much later.

Moans tumbled from his lips, rolling from his tongue as he squeezed his eyes shut. The sounds Kuroo made while sucking him off was lewd—it was _perfect_. The wet suction, like he was _made_ to suck his cock. Those lips pulled tight, cheeks hollowed, nose pressed against his trimmed pubic hair—he could feel him attempt to swallow around his cock, blocking his airway when he’d take him deeper.

Kuroo’s throat rumbling, vibrating with his own sounds of pleasure—he was _getting off_ to the sound of him being so pleased, so pleasured by that sinful mouth. Ushijima wouldn’t last long, it’s been far too long since he last came—and even _then_ he couldn’t say how long he’d last with those lips sucking the very life from his body. “Kuroo—shit, _uh_. Coming. I’m coming.”

His eyes pinched shut, voice cracking. Grunting at the sudden gut clenching pleasure that curled at his toes, that made his fingers dig into the sheets beneath him, made him curl around the head of the man swallowing down the creamy white fluid of his orgasm.

Kuroo pulled off with a pop, with a hiss followed by a whimper. His face nuzzled against Ushijima’s leg. His arm stilled—Ushijima hadn’t even noticed that he had been getting himself off at the same time. “Fuck that was _hot_ ,” Kuroo’s voice deep, pinched and raspy from abuse. Muffled against Ushijima’s leg as he pressed a quick peck to the skin.

Ushijima cleared his throat. “Sorry. Wanted to last longer.”

Kuroo chuckled. “I’ll take that as a _compliment_. Though later I want to see what _you_ can do.” His breath puffed out against Ushijima’s throat, lips pressing to his Adam’s apple from their awkward impromptu cuddle position.

 **[** _Bottom of the bottle hits_  
Waking up my mind as I throw a fit  
The breakin' is takin' me down, down, down **]**

The smell of bacon wakes him the following morning, the sounds of pans and pots moving as someone rummaged through his kitchen. Ushijima groaned, kicking off his blankets and standing in the cool morning air in his birthday suit. His bedroom door is wide open, a mixture of both his and Kuroo’s clothes from the night before still spewed about on his bedroom floor.

He smirks at that, noting that Kuroo was the person who was making noise in his quiet (lonely) apartment that 7:24AM on a Friday morning. He padded towards his dresser, pulling out a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms and covering his nudity with them. As much as he would bet Kuroo enjoying him naked he knew better than to go anywhere close to bacon with no pants on.

Kuroo’s head appeared around the corner just as Ushijima stepped into the hallway. “Hey,” his ever mirthful golden eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled. “Tried waking you up but you were like the dead, babe. Figured you wouldn’t be too picky on what I make though, hopefully I’m right.” His gaze dropped suddenly, looking down towards the corner of his eyes. A hint of a blush seemed to sweep up upon the tips of his ears.

Ushijima lips curled, reaching out to cup the man’s cheek. Thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, “It smells good.” Kuroo’s golden gaze flicked back up to him, no longer feeling bashful the man seemed to perk up at the compliment.

“Just bacon and eggs—nothing fancy.” It wasn’t the most Japanese of breakfast, but Ushijima didn’t often have time to even eat a homemade breakfast. Even on his days off the man would force himself to sleep till around lunch time and eat a lunch instead. He turned, stepping away from Ushijima to return to the space in front of the stove. A plate of bacon lay beside it, paper towel soaking up the grease.

He crowded in behind the tattooed man, nose buried in the shirt he wore. The familiar shirt not yet registering in his mind, eyes too busy closing to notice the detail. “Would you like to accompany me to dinner tonight?”

The spatula in his hand froze beside the eggs he was about to flip, “a date?” The spatula slipped under the first egg, flipping it with a quick flick of his wrist before moving to do the same to the other. Ushijima nodded, nose tickled as he rubbed it against the mess of black hair covering Kuroo’s neck. “I’ll have to go home and change, but yeah. I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon so… yeah. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Just… give me some warning if I have to wear a button up, or a suit—I have to find and iron that shit.”

Ushijima chuckled, “I don’t enjoy wearing a suit on my only days off.” Those golden eyes looked to him, glancing at him from the corner of full dark lashes. That man was beautiful, he was addicting. Ushijima never wanted to see him leave, he wouldn’t let a chance like this slip through his fingers. He lost a passion once before and it damn near killed him, he couldn’t let the possibility of another slip on by.

**[** _My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after.  
I've been standing here my whole life,]_

[_“Hold on baby, careful what you say. You've been drinking someone else's pain,”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqG9hsjLf3M) another Thursday was upon him, here he was sitting in that very same pub listening to the very same band play on stage. Playing another Thursday with a crowd that was larger than the first day, the people there looked to be University students—or at least around the age.

Teru, the bartender, at it again. Handing him another whiskey on the rocks while the band played. “So you and Kuroo,” dyed blond hair falling from its hold to frame around his eyes. Eyebrows waggling in what could only be assumed to be suggestive.

Ushijima starred, eyes narrowing before pointedly looking away and back to the performance. “I get it. Don’t want to miss your boyfriend’s singing—I gotcha.” The man winked, knocking his knuckles against the bar before walking away. Finally leaving him to his little corner of the bar that had an excellent view of Ushijima’s unofficial ‘significant other’.

Kuroo had asked before his show started if he could spend the evening with him and Ushijima had all too eagerly agreed. His week apart from the man spent working on one of his company’s business adventures, talking with one person after the other and only having a conversation with Kuroo through digital messages. It was enough for a few days, but when Tuesday was nearing its completion the words hadn’t been enough to starve off the need to touch, to caress and to kiss the other man. He already missed smelling him upon his sheets and seeing him in his clothing.

Ushijima wanted to be the one to wake up before the other and make him breakfast, to shower him with affection that would make his heart flutter and his cheeks fluster.

He brought the fresh drink to his lips, sipping at the rich amber liquid before setting his glass back to the counter. _“It’s been a time since I’ve woke up feeling blind, listening to those minutes ticking by.”_ Kuroo’s foot tapped the petal by his foot, releasing his hold on the guitar that still seemed to play notes through the amp—Kuroo had mentioned in a text that he got a new _toy_ to play with during his next performance, but Ushijima didn’t even know that someone could do that.

Long fingers wrapping around the mike, the stand. Eyes slowly falling closed like they tended to do when he sang, _“When I’m not by your side—”_ Ushijima tuned out the lyrics when the man’s eyes opened again. Golden hues flicking over the gathered crowd, smirking against the microphone before grabbing hold of his guitar again and clicking the petal.

The warm lighting dancing off his sweat slicked skin, the tattoos of cats and birds, flowers and stars visible from his place. He could remember the expansion of flesh the art covered, could remember seeing that large black panther and deep red tiger on the man’s back. The tip of the tiger’s tail peeking out from the collar of his black tank top—he wanted to taste that skin again, wanted to explore the tattooed skin further tonight.

He wanted to trace over the pattern he saw on the man’s thighs, wanted to kiss that little koi fish on the inside of his ankle. He wanted to take tonight to worship that man; this time he had made sure to stock up on the necessary tools for the evening. Even going as far to purchase massage oil to work over the man’s skin—yes, Ushijima was going to take his time. He was going to map out every inch of Kuroo and leave himself the memory of the man when they had to part ways briefly.

**[** _Everything I've seen twice, now it's time I realize  
It's spinnin' back around now, on this road I'm crawling_ **]**

Kuroo tosses his bag filled with his clothes he planned to wear tomorrow at work, his products and other bathing necessities. He refused to leave this apartment unless he _needed_ to, and the only way that was happening is if someone was dying or he had to go to work. As well as the band was doing, it wasn’t doing _well enough_ that he could just quit his job at the bar and retire to strictly-the-music-lifestyle.

He has a second to himself, to take in his surroundings that he hadn’t yet had the moment to take in before Ushijima is leading him towards the sitting room—completely bypassing any semblance of bedroom to lower him to the couch and follow him down.

Kuroo’s fingers dig in deep, clutching at the dark dress shirt around the shoulders and pulling. Straining the seams. “If you don’t take this off I’ll _tear it_ off.” His warning had the other man chuckling, had him sitting up between Kuroo’s spread legs and slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can’t have that,” Ushijima teased, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. A brow arched as Kuroo moved, growing more comfortable still spread out along the couch cushions by throwing a leg over the back of the couch. His tattooed hand slipping under his loose fitted tank and slowly dragging it up till it pooled around his arm pits.

Kuroo suddenly snickers, long slender fingers suddenly circling around his own nipples and tweeking them. He pulled an exaggerated face, lips parted in a silent _‘ooo_ ’. He held it for a moment, a second, before cracking. Face breaking into a wide grin, a bubble of laughter erupting from his mouth. Those golden eyes closed as he tossed his head back, exposing his neck.

Ushijima, now with his shirt hanging wide open, was quick to return. To pepper kisses to that exposed throat, sucking at the inked skin that covered the expansion of flesh. “You’re gorgeous,” he stated, mumbled at Kuroo’s skin. The man moaned, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and clinging to him. Holding him closer, drawing him in. His hands firm as he pressed, sliding them down Kuroo’s chest to his belt.

Kuroo’s fingers weaved through his brown hair, tugging his mouth away from his neck and to his face. Their lips met, parting to make room for the slide of tongue. Ushijima groaned, melting into the kiss when the tip of Kuroo’s tongue flicked up behind the top row of his teeth and tickled the tender flesh there.

It was a tease, a flick—exploring the other’s mouth further, roaming and pressing against teeth before moving back to the press of tongues. The tangle, the dance of the two slice muscles. Lazy in their dance, moans mounting in each man’s throat. They parted, chests heaving and eyes heavy with lust, with the beginning of devotion.

Kuroo licked his lips, breaking the string of spit between them. Golden eyes darting over each dip and arch of the man’s face. “Can I stay the weekend?” there was a flicker of uncertainty in those eyes as he looked back to Ushijima’s lips.

“I work this weekend, but if you don’t mind then yes.” He had agreed all too quickly, it was moving all too fast but Ushijima never wanted to let him go. Never wanted to see him leave, to keep him by his side for as long as physically possible. He pressed another kiss to the man’s lips, then another and another. Kuroo arched up, wrapping his leg around Ushijima’s waist and dragging him closer. Pulling him flush against his groin.

There was a slam against Ushijima’s front door, startling both men and the cats somewhere further in the house. Their claws clacking against the hardwood as the tore towards some hiding place. That slam turned to knocking; loud and uncaring. “Ushijima!!”

The said man froze, groaning out in annoyance above his lover. Body falling limp, landing upon the man below him with a mournful groan. “Know that voice?” Kuroo’s grip releasing his hair, instead moving towards petting the brown strands as he held the man.

“A _friend_ I’ve had since Middle School.”

Another round of insistent knocking pulled them apart; Kuroo to get his clothing in order, and poor ol’ shirtless Ushijima to answer his door with his open shirt hanging off his shoulders. He threw open the door, answering the person (correction: two. There were two people there) with a loud snap. “What?!”

Both of them stared at the man’s dishevelled appearance; at the hickey on his throat, at the bruised lips, and at the open shirt showing off his muscles for all to see. “Are we interrupting something?” the red head’s lips pulled apart to show off a wicked leer.

“Yes.”

The man with pale off-blond hair rolled his eyes, turning to his companion. “You didn’t need to bring me here Tendou,” running a hand through his black-tipped hair, he sighed. He had been doing that a lot today, Ushijima could hear it in the tone. Could see it in how the typically proud man stood slightly hunched, eyes rimmed with a hint of red.

Tendou snorted, “Shut up. Semi got dumped, Ushijima. As his acclaimed best friends it falls to us to cheer him up.” Ushijima had heard briefly of the woman Semi had been seeing, as well as the two men before that, but it never seemed to have gotten serious from what he had seen from the interactions and conversations he’s shared with his old friend at work. “Plus, I have beer!” The redhead held said box up in acknowledgement.

Ushijima sighed, stepping back into his apartment and holding the door open for the two to enter. Tendou would’ve pushed his way in no matter what, at least this way it gives him some pretense of free choice. Once they’re in Ushijima closes the door, locking it behind them. The pair eyed the scuffed up boots with the unique laces (rainbow on the left boot and a bright cherry red for the right) while removing their own shoes, respecting the other’s silent wish to keep him home clean.

Kuroo was right where he left him, save more presentable with his shirt back in place and his belt firmly fastened. “I heard that there was beer involved,” the man yawned, sitting up before pushing off to make his way towards the two new comers (read: cockblocks). “Kuroo,” he introduced himself, holding a tattooed hand out towards Semi. The only one with his hands free.

The white-blond haired man took his hand, a solid clasp of hands, shaking it with a quick two stroke. “Semi,” the man replied releasing his hand. Ushijima huffed, turning away from the three gathered in his living room and retreating to his bedroom to change—if he wasn’t getting laid while they were here, he was sure in hell not going to be in his suit longer than he needed to be.

Tendou nudged his shoulder against Kuroo’s arm, “and I’m Tendou. Don’t mind blondie—he’s an emotional _wreck_.” Semi rolled his eyes at the man’s claim; clearly his form of ‘a wreck’ was a lot better off than 99.9% of the human population for the guy looked fine all save for the slight red rim to his eyes that gave away that he _wasn’t_ like this a few hours ago. The two men made their way down the hall towards Ushijima’s room, but instead of continuing straight they veered right into a room that Kuroo hadn’t yet poked his nose into.

He had planned to mossy through the house when the man was away at work—maybe find any possible sex toys? Kuroo was not above kink play. It was fun, exciting. Plus, maybe Mr. Suit-and-tie was into some bondage, or pet play (mild or hardcore would have to be his next question). Now _that_ would be an interesting find.

Instead, the room gave way to a large entertainment center. New generation gaming systems (Xbox one, PS4… oh there was even an Xbox360) lined the shelving unit beside the television, while his movie selection was highly lacking. Kenma would approve of this man just based off of how well he treated his games—they looked untouched. Well, maybe they were.

Ushijima did tell him that he only had Fridays off and he spent half the day catching up on sleep. That didn’t leave a lot of room for gaming. And from the books that lined the walls beside the television centre, well, _those_ look to have seen more use than the games as of yet.

Tendou set the case of beer on the coffee table, falling back into the large L-shaped leather couch. Already reaching for the remote that controlled not just the television but the lights, the sound system—wow possible-slash-near boyfriend had a good system here. Semi tore open the top of the box, pulling out one beer after the other and handing it out while the redheaded man found some movie to watch on Netflix.

Ushijima had Netflix. Huh.

The bedroom door beside the room opened, closing again as the man shut it behind him. In walked Ushijima clad in a typical University-student-at-3AM-while-cramming sheik. Though the man looked far more put together than the average person around that time; dark blue sweater rolled up to his elbows, baggy pajama pants with little yellow and blue volleyballs on them. The ends around his heels were worn, clearly well loved.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home,” the man sighed, taking a seat in his spot along the L-shape of the couch. Lazing back into a recline, throw pillows tucked under his back to make it more comfortable. He and Kuroo’s gazes met, flickered between the small space of the couch between them before the tattooed man moved. Tucking himself between Ushijima and the back of the couch; Kuroo lay alongside him, cuddled up and tucked into his side with his head already finding a comfortable _pillow_ upon the man’s pectoral.

“So I’m imposing rules on movies tonight—we’re only watching Legally Blonde once,” Tendou pulled the DVD case out of his inside jacket pocket, handing it over to an excited Semi. “No emotional, heartbreaking movies—we’re trying to _cheer_ you up, not make you get upset some more. That’s it. How about this Buddy Cop type movie?”

**[** _Save me cause I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right  
Cause I keep runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'_ **]**

Kuroo burrowed back into the covers, covering his head with a pillow as Ushijima left to see his overnight guests out and lock the door behind them. Both of them had to work Friday, unlike their boss who had plans of sleeping in that day and was completely shot. His day off wasn’t going as planned; he planned to have sex, to sleep curled up to Kuroo, to have sex again and maybe again and then he’d see the man off when he left for work that evening.

Nothing that he had planned had happened how he wished it too—other than the sleeping curled up with the other man. At least that was done completely naked. Ushijima closed the front door with a grunt, locking it behind the redheaded man. “They gone?” Kuroo’s groggy voice called from the bedroom.

Ushijima shakes his head, not bothering to answer his tired musings with words. Rather instead he returned to his room, his bed, slipping off his sweat pants and climbing back under the sheets nude. His lover hums, pushing back against him so their chest and back met flush. Nestled together comfortably, “sleep.” Ushijima yawned, wrapping his arm around the tattooed man. Holding him close. “We’ll have sex later.”

Kuroo hummed, body growing limp as sleep eased back into his conscious. Slipping from a conscious mind to that of unconscious. Ushijima pressed a kiss to the man’s coloured in shoulder, nose brushing over the skin faintly as he caressed it.

**[** _Runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'  
Runnin' from my heart.]_

He woke up to a press of lips against his throat. To a man sitting on his waist, hands smoothing over his unmarked skin. “You’re up,” the man took a moment to comment, to pause briefly from his exploration. Ushijima hissed, inhaling between his teeth when the man bit down on his throat, sucking an angry mark to his skin.

“Shit,” he cursed, body caving—moving away from the pain. He had never been much for having his neck bitten. He had a thing for the hair though; his last partner awakened his love of having his hair pulled, played with—that was about the only ‘pain play’ that Ushijima got off on. “Ow,” he hissed again when Kuroo began sucking another mark onto his neck. It was high, higher than the collar of his shirts.

“Just one more,” Kuroo mumbled, moving on to that last mark. He nibbled on the skin, working it between his teeth before sucking. He released the captured flesh with a pop, sitting back with a wide grin. Golden eyes twinkling as he took in Ushijima’s rugged appearance. “There,” he reached out to caress the marks. Deft fingers trailing over the hickeys.

Ushijima surged, wrapping his arms around the man’s torso and bucking his hips. Rolling them over so he sat between spread thighs. Kuroo threw his arms up, falling beside his dishevelled hair and framing his head. He looked delicious; every pour oozing pride as he just _laid there_ , giving Ushijima a show that had him swallowing. He leaned down, pressing his chest to Kuroo’s. A kiss to the corner of his lip, to his chin. “I don’t want to draw this out.”

Kuroo hummed, “we have waited long enough,” he mused. Their gazes met; Kuroo nodded, jerking his head towards Ushijima’s nightstand where he had all the necessary tools for their coupling. Ushijima nodded, fully agreeing with that statement. He leaned over, pulling open the drawer and pulling out his loot—already separated individual condom wrappers (just the one for now) and an unused bottle of water based lube.

He returned with his find, setting the condom wrapper on Kuroo’s chest for the man to inspect while Ushijima went about warming up the lube. The bottle was cool to his touch and he figured that he wouldn’t appreciate it much if he didn’t warm it up a bit first. Kuroo checked the package, looking for any flaws in the packaging or something off about the date.

He trusted Ushijima, yes, but one can never be too careful about their protection. The last thing Kuroo wanted to deal with in a fresh relationship is tension from lack of proper sexual common sense. _Those_ weren’t fun. He dropped the package back to his chest, tucking his arms under his head with a grin. “You’re sweet,” he stated, nodding to the bottle that Ushijima was now finally opening.

Ushijima smiled; a twitch of his lips that only grew larger as the complement settled. As he popped open the cap and began squeezing out the liquid, dispersing it liberally over three fingers before capping the bottle again and setting it beside him. Neither one of them would provide natural lubrication—at least not enough for anal. The anus wasn’t meant for such activities without proper preparation, or lubrication.

Of all the things he learned through volleyball, he had never expected proper education of homosexual coupling to be taught in his volleyball club at school. But, maybe it came with carrying for his students when a fair number of his team mates were either homosexual or one of the branches of sexuality that coupled with many genders, one of which including ones from the same gender as the individual in question.

Ushijima’s middle finger slipped down between the man’s crack, circling his hole—teasing the sensitive nerves that made it up. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to the inside of Kuroo’s knee before finally pressing in. He didn’t push very hard, just the tip massaged his anus. Kuroo’s body twitched, his breath coming out steady as his eyes slid shut.

He took his time pressing in. Exploring inch by inch, the feel of Kuroo’s body accepting him, of drawing him in. “I take it back,” Kuroo whispered before long, lips raw and bitten at, “you’re a _tease_.” The man smiled, hiding it against Kuroo’s leg before adding a second finger. He pumped, in and out, working a slow rhythm upon Kuroo’s complaints—he couldn’t have his poor Kuroo unsatisfied, now could he?

Ushijima watched as his fingers were sucked into his whole, consumed—emerging with a _slick_ and returning again with a slide. He was tempted to have a taste but Kuroo hadn’t showered yet today, and while all seemed well Ushijima wasn’t going to tempt fate by eating out an uncleaned anus.

Kuroo hummed, he groaned. Toes curling when Ushijima curled the tips of his fingers just right, massaging against his prostate gland—Kuroo head slammed back against the pillows, tossing his hair around his head in a halo, mouth hanging open as his groans grew louder. Ushijima, spurred by the sounds, quickened his pace. Wanting to draw further noise from those lips.

He added a third finger, slowing his pace again to work the man’s muscles loose again. He peppered kisses to the man’s knee, humming at the moment Kuroo relaxed around him. He pushed deep, grazing against the man’s prostate but no longer focusing his attention to it. Maybe he was being impatient, but he wanted to be _in_ him already. Wanted to feel those fleshy walls sucking him down to his root before making love to him.

Kuroo’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on the bangs just enough for Ushijima to get the point and look up. “I’m stretched enough. It’s okay,” his legs parted a little more, a soft grin breaking out over his face. His golden eyes shining, watching his every movement—from the nod to the removal of his fingers, to grabbing the condom and slowly rolling it over his length. He applied more lube onto the rubber; living by the saying he had learned in high school of _‘more lube is better than not enough’_.

He went over the proper positioning in his head as he shuffled closer; a blush starting to expand upon his cheeks, his neck and even creeping to his chest as he went over where to hold him and how to line up. He lifted the man’s tattooed hips, Ushijima’s thighs flush against his ass—Kuroo snickering as he wrapped his inked limbs around him. “Ushi, sweetheart, no need to be all tense~” He teased, hands firmly pressed to the sheets before using it to lever his legs up even higher—hooking around just beneath his armpit. “Just line’er up and we’ll work it out when you’re finally _in me_.”

So he did just that.

Kuroo’s hold tightened at the slight hesitation, legs dropping ever the slightest to draw the man in, causing his cock to drive all the quicker into him with dual cries of pleasure—though no one could fault Ushijima for having some confusion dilute his.

Arms hooking under Kuroo’s arms, linking under his shoulders, Ushijima pressed a kiss to the man’s lips. Mouths parting, tongues dancing—Kuroo’s fingers tangled into his brown hair, weaving through the strands and clinging to it when he began to thrust. Moaning into each others mouths, not wishing to part even for a moment to catch their breath so they huffed and puffed their inhales and exhales through their nostrils.

“Just like that,” Kuroo hissed, nails biting into Ushijima’s shoulder as he clung. His eyes falling shut when Ushijima thrust in again, brushing against the man’s prostate.

“I won’t last long like this.”

Kuroo shook his head, “don’t care. Just stay there. Just like that—just like _that_!” His back arched, breaking away from Ushijima’s mouth—his black hair sticking to his sweat slicked skin. Ushijima groaned, upping his pace—he could already feel himself climbing. Could feel his orgasm approaching.

Why didn’t he think to up his stamina before then?

The hand holding the back of his head dropped, palming at the leaking cock trapped between them. “ _Ugn_ , fuck Ushi—just like that don’t stop!” It was hard to heed his wishes; torn between chasing after his pleasure and lasting.

He caved when Kuroo’s mouth desperately found his again, tongue plunging into his mouth. Over his teeth, pressing to the roof of his mouth and against his own tongue. It was a kiss full of saliva, of desperation and need. And Ushijima didn’t care about lasting after that—he caved.

 **[** _'Round and around I'd go, addicted to the numb_  
Living in the cold  
The higher, the lower the down, down, down **]**

Kuroo tilted his head, slowly blinking his eyes along with their observer. The water droplet still leftover from the tap felt, cutting through the silence the bathroom had fallen into. The cat crossed his paws over, large yellow eyes staring at the two in the tub. “I like him,” he stated dropping his hand outside of the bath, beckoning the cat over.

The feline blinked from his spot on top of their folded towels, never making a move to greet him. “It looks like he’s happier remaining where he is,” Ushijima teased, smirking down at the man who used him so boneless-ly. So at ease with their closeness.

Kuroo sighed, returning his hand to the water. “I don’t want to work tonight—but it means I get the weekend off though~” He bemoaned, slipping down the length of Ushijima’s body and sinking into the waiting water.

“Such is life,” Ushijima replied, gripping the man’s arms and hoisting him back up to his placement before. His head returning to the junction of his shoulder and neck.

 **[** _Sick of being tired and sick of waiting_  
For another kind of fix  
The damage is damning me down, down, down **]**

Kuroo wiped down the bar, humming one of the tunes he’s been tossing around in his head since hearing something on the radio playing in the pub that night. There was a little guitar rift in one of the songs that wouldn’t leave his head, blossoming into a fledgling idea that wasn’t yet large enough to grow feathers of take wing.

—the bird metaphor just seemed to stick for his ideas. It most likely had something to do with a certain friend of his, and then in extension a certain ex-boyfriend of his that reminded him of a crow (also a sort-of mascot for a team he had played for, so he might have that stuck in his head). Teru’s elbow dug into his ribs, nudging him out of his musings.

“You dating him?” his pierced tongue peeking out between his lips, wetting them. Another ex. This one stayed a friend—close friend really. Dated in College shortly after crow-ex took an exchange program and kinda fell off the earth. Kuroo understands it, but the guy was his first love—it’s kinda hard to just let that go.

Kuroo had a number of exes in his friend list. Wow, maybe he shouldn’t really date friends? But then again, friends tended to stay friends after that little romantic escapades. Bokuto was a great person to bring up that reference—and Akaashi… and both at the same time.

Ahhh, it really is one of those nights. Those Friday nights where you muse over your past and wish to have a drink while digging through all these memories of times you should’ve left in the past. As much as it made for great songs, Kuroo didn’t want to write original pieces about exes and heartbreak—too much of that, and his exes were friends that liked to listen to him play. He wouldn’t let them feel guilty for finding happiness.

Kuroo shrugged, “nothing official. But I’m not planning to see anyone else while we work things out.”

Ushijima was… well he was sweet for sure. Kuroo had told him that more than once. There was also something about him that captivated him; that held his attention and would refuse for him to break it. He was a man that looked like he needed someone in his life—there was the desperation in his touch when he’d touch Kuroo, when he’d kiss him like a man dying of thirst and Kuroo was his first sip of water in days. Kuroo hadn’t felt another touch him, yet alone look at him, like he was mapping out every centimeter of skin—every piece of ink and imperfection and touch.

It felt weird being taken care of for once; of taking care of Ushijima in return—like it was a give and take. Kuroo was so used to giving and giving and _giving_. Of taking care of his lovers ‘cause it was just his nature to do so—but not with him. He hadn’t really been able to take care of that man since their first evening (and then breakfast the following morning) together.

“You guys should do karaoke,” Teru grinned, tossing the cloth he held over his shoulder and back into the sink. “Have a big ol’ friend and lover meet-in-greet.” The pair fell into a silence, listening to the bar bustle with the Friday crowd, music playing over the speakers to serve as mood tuneage. The dyed blond tapped his knuckles against the counter, drawing Kuroo attention from his musing. “I forgot to mention this yesterday but,” his other hand rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, “it’s nice to hear one of your original songs again. I’ve missed them, man.”

Kuroo’s gaze dropped to the cloth he left on the bar top. He sighed; it has been a long time since he sang original, hasn’t it? But… Kuroo set both elbows onto the bar, hanging his head. He hadn’t really had the heart to sing those original songs for so long—he had written them, sang them, performed them… all for others. A tribute of heart to those that held it.

“It’s nothing, man.” Kuroo straightened, grabbing his cloth and dropping it in the sink. “I’ll do glass roundup,” he informed his co-worker, grabbing a tray to dump the used glasses on and slipped out from behind the bar.

 **[** _Sick of being tired and sick of waiting_  
For another kind of fix  
The damage is damning me down, down, down **]**

Ushijima’s car waited for him just outside the employee exist, his window down while he skimmed through an article on his phone. Kuroo tilted his head, smiling at the gesture before crossing the short distance from door to driver’s side door. “You didn’t have to wait,” he spoke, startling the man with the sudden appearance.

Ushijima stored his phone back into his sweater pocket—another instance where he looked rather comfortable without the suit get up. Were those jeans? Yes. Yes those were jeans. Kuroo smiled, leaning in through the window to press a kiss to the man’s cheek. “But thanks anyways, babe.” Reaching in to wrap an arm around his shoulders, Kuroo hugged the man tight. Nuzzling his fluffy brown hair, most likely from how he had been lazing before coming to pick him up.

The man huffed, leaning into his embrace. The man’s cheeks coloured, his ears burning from the affection. “Don’t you need to go pick some things up at your apartment?” The other groaned, releasing him.

“Yeah yeah, let’s go then. Right?” Kuroo, with one finally pat to Ushijima’s cheek retracted his limbs. Rounding the car and slipping into the passenger side with a heavy sigh. He gripped the headrest, holding it as Ushijima pulled out from behind the building and returned to the road. With the radio absent the pair drove on in silence, only breaking for Kuroo to provide further directions to his apartment.

Seven right turns, three left—that’s what it took to reach the relatively nice apartment complex. Kuroo waved him over, gesturing for Ushijima to follow him up when they parked. It was another five floors up by elevator, another left turn and down the hall, before Ushijima stared at the numbers beside the door. Four family names staring at him.

He followed him in, “sorry for the intrusion,” he sighed. Toeing off his shoes while Kuroo slipped on ahead, flicking on lights as he went about collecting more thing. He had things already at his place but for some reason (for Ushijima did not inquire) he wanted to grab another bundle of things.

Ushijima followed after him taking in the hazard blend of un-matching furniture, the dishes piled up in the sink and others drying in the drying rack. The basket of folded laundry waiting on the couch for its owners to grab and put away. Kuroo stopped by the basket, digging through the clothes to see if anything was his—only two pairs of socks and bright rainbow boxers appeared to be his.

Ushijima turned at the sound of nails clacking on hardwood, a brow raising in confusion when a large great horned owl trotted from the hall and made a beeline to Kuroo. Hooting softly at him; Kuroo chuckled. “Did Bo and Akaashi kick you out of the bedroom? Poor thing,” he kneeled holding an arm out for the flightless bird to climb up.

The man stood slowly, balancing the bird of prey on his arm. “This is Hooter—don’t ask me about the name, I’ll just say it’s because my best friend and her owner is a dumbass. She’s a rescue at the wildlife shelter that our fourth roommate—my brother of sorts, Kenma—works at. Ken tends to bring home strays every so often when they have to stay overnight with someone and she just never left.”

She was a beautiful bird; her flight feathers looked all in order to Ushijima so it might not be a problem with the feathers but rather internal in nature. The bird perked up at the sound of a door opening, light growing from the crack from the doorway; a blond and black haired male poking his head out.

“It’s only you, Tetsurou.” He called out in monotone, closing his door again now that his curiosity was stated.

The inked man rolled his eyes, nudging his lover, “that’s Kenma. Don’t mind him, he doesn’t take well to people. He’s harmless though; like a little kitten.” The man winked, linking their arms together and leading him towards the bedrooms.

The one that Kenma had just returned to still had light shining out from under the door, the open doorway beside his led to the bathroom while the two other closed doors no doubt led to Kuroo’s and his other two roommates room. He opened the door closest, flicking on the light before entering much further.

It wasn’t much; a bed, a dresser, and a desk with a computer. Posters and pictures covering every inch of his walls; movies, animes and video games, and of course the bands. Already far more character that Ushijima had in his own space. He had nothing hanging on the walls in his bedroom, and the only reason why he had paintings up in the rest of his house was for the simple fact of having them up. Just another thing to pretend over.

Hooter hopped off Kuroo’s arm as he collected his laptop bag from inside the desk, setting it on the bed beside both socks and underwear. He pulled his work shirt over his head, back muscles flexing as he tossed the garment into his hamper. “I had beer spill on me,” he stated, walking over to his dresser and pulling out a new shirt to change into.

It was loose. The arms cut off and the holes where they used to be torn even further, showing off a fair bit of his sides. A lot of his shirts tended to do that, Ushijima noticed, admiring the ink and skin he could spot. His ribs weren’t as tattooed as his arms, his torso holding the least mass of ink—at least, meaning that the entirety of the man’s torso wasn’t covered like both his arms and thighs were.

He handed off his laptop case to Ushijima before grabbing hold of the case holding his acoustic guitar, holding the stab overhead and lowering it until it fit snuggly against his back. Golden eyes slid shut as he smiled, “I have this tune stuck in my head—I hope you don’t mind me playing a bit.”

Ushijima shook his head. “Not at all.” Wondering for but a moment if the man would play for him if he asked—maybe he’d ask when they return to his apartment. Kuroo scooped up Hooters, petting her soft feathers as he led them back out of his room, closing the door and shutting off the lights behind them.

**[** _My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after.  
I've been standing here my whole life_ **]**

Kuroo woke up when the man’s alarm went off, “sorry. Go back to sleep.” Ushijima pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, slipping out from beneath the covers and making his way to the bathroom. Kuroo only moved when the shower started, the light under the door lighting a path of enough visibility for Kuroo to exist the bedroom.

He had watched Ushijima get ready for his work week that night; watched him pack his briefcase with files, crisp white papers that he hadn’t even looked at since Kuroo had arrived. He went about pulling out his suit, his tie and shirt—even making to the closest by the front door and insuring that he had the right shoes out. But that whole time, that whole process, not once did he look to the kitchen for a lunch.

And Kuroo just wasn’t having that.

It wasn’t hard finding containers—finding a bento box on the other hand was just an impossible task so he dropped that and went for the Tupperware. Throwing open and close cupboards as he went, Kuroo grabbed the rice, vegetables from the fridge and he was surprised that Mr. Suit-and-Tie actually had hotdogs in his fridge so he pulled those out to. He wouldn’t have the time to cook up any other protein to add to the mix, as they were all frozen, so he made do.

He used to make lunches for Kenma growing up after the first few days of elementary school where Kuroo noticed that he’d either always forget his lunch or just wouldn’t ask for one—his mother would work constantly, going from one job to the other in an effort to support the two of them and the cost of her husband’s hospital expenses that weren’t covered. It wasn’t that she was a poor parent—she was one of the best mothers that Kuroo had met—her only ‘crime’ was that she assumed that Kenma would take one of the premade dinners she had made for him and put in the fridge.

So, channeling the creativity that he used when he used to make Kenma and his bentos, Kuroo made [octopus and crabs](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1K81RKExuRA/TNdGyN8RvzI/AAAAAAAAAPI/eeO4Wcq11zk/s1600/DSC09149.JPG) out of the hotdogs to go along with the fried vegetables and rice. He was just packaging it when Ushijima rounded the corner, towel thrown over his shoulders and over his hair, his pants unbuckled and clinking as he walked. The man blinked, a blush exploding from his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. Blushing with his whole being.

“You,” he stalled, blinking at the scene before him. Kuroo laying the last of the food into the large container, clothed in a mixture of Ushijima’s shirt and the man’s own underwear. A smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, the heat leaving a hint of red colouring to his nose and cheek bones. He crossed the distance, hugging the other tightly.

Kuroo expelled a sound of confusion, arms falling to his side as the other clung. Kissing his cheek, his ear—anything and everything he could reach. “You’re perfect,” the man breathed, words like a feather against his nape.

Kuroo’s heart pounded, leaping and bounding in his chest. Why does he say it like that? Why do those words seem to make his knees weak and chest all aflutter? It’s been two weeks—two weeks since they’ve met.

It’s too soon.

Kuroo wrapped his arms around the man, his wet hair tickling his face as he moved to nuzzle against him. “Don’t go giving me a complex now,” he whispered back just as breathlessly. His heart feeling light, his head dizzy.

It was too soon for this, yet why wasn’t he making a move to stop it?

**[** _Everything I've seen twice, now it's time I realize  
It's spinning back around now, on this road I'm crawling_ **]**

Kuroo smiled at the webcam, the stream live and people popping up with comments in the chatroom. He liked doing these little things; he’d post about his live stream on his Twitter, on the Tumblr he had and got back in the days he was dating Kei, even posting it up onto his Facebook page for those fans that were close enough to have it. “Hey, how are you doing this fine afternoon?” he spoke, questioning the stream and getting messages in the chat.

**_Kiya:_ ** _The room your in looks different Kuroo-kun~_

Kuroo smiled at the username, a regular to both the streams and events, “you’re right.” He stared at the guitar sitting ready in his lap. “I’m at my boyfriend’s place. It’s a little new so you might have to wait to see him at some of the gigs—but I plan on bringing him to meet my lovelies!” He winked at the camera, blowing them a kiss.

He had a regular following in this stream; his friends he’s made through his life would pop on time to time as well. He felt comfortable seeing their names—being open enough to share little bits of information like this with them. He could see those familiar followers commenting now: Kiya, DXXX, Flex, Rosa, and Bait.

**_Rosa:_ ** _!!!!! <3  
**DXXX:** Was that original song I heard on Thursday cause you found a new muse?_

Kuroo’s cheeks coloured. “There’s a possibility DXXX,” he pronounced the username like _Dixs_. If he said it quick enough he swore he at times said _dicks_ instead. He’s had many a number of chuckles about it. “It’s been… an _experience_ to figure out original works, and I’m sorry that you guys had to wait that long to hear new things.”

 ** _Bait:_** _I enjoyed the Disney covers. Youtube & Tumblr ate that shit up. _  
**Bait:** But I am excieted for new stuff don’t get me wrong.  
**Flex:** Is this stream about ur new songs?

Kuroo nodded. “I was thinking of testing out a tune I have in my head. Maybe warm up with something—your guys’ choice. Bae is at work until later tonight ‘cause he’s one of _those_ poor bastards that go work on a Saturday.” He smiled fondly towards the door leading out of the room Ushijima made into his den, towards the black and orange cat making her way in with a superior ease.

He strummed lazily, looking between the feed and the chat window. “So I have no idea about lyrics, but this is the tune.” His mindless strumming, the tuning, it all came together shortly without Kuroo even blinking. He hummed, eyes sliding closed as he played. He had no set reference to play along to, writing the sound as he went—frowning at some note, nodding at others. He’ll change them if he needed to.

**[** _Save me cause I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right  
Cause I keep runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'_ **]**

Another week came and went the same. Kuroo going back to Ushijima’s on Thursday, spending the weekend, leaving late Sunday night instead of the Monday morning like the time before. He had spent his time writing that weekend, scribbling and scrawling lyrics to a tune he had no idea of fully. Tearing out the paper and throwing it away like the ones before it.

Another week after that passed just the same. Kuroo left Monday morning, waving at the man when he got into his driver’s car and he left with a curt nod. He walked to the train, fought the bustle and traffic of the city, returned home. He slept until his shift, working like it was second nature. He practiced with his band, he cooked dinner for his housemates—made sure they were taking care of themselves.

Another week after another week, after another week. A month blew by, two, until Bokuto wrapped his hand around his bicep and held. He, his housemates, they stared at him all throughout him packing his weekend bag and getting ready to leave. “Tetsurou,” he’d only use his given name when he was serious—when he was affectionate, when he was mad… when his emotions were at the peak. Bokuto had never stopped since their breakup—since Kuroo _helped_ he and Akaashi get together—an old habit that Kuroo never had the heart for him to break.

Akaashi sighed, stepping in when the silence only grew longer. “We’d like to meet him,” he states gently, dark brown eyes ever watchful as Bokuto released his friend. “It’s not that we think there’s something wrong—it’s the opposite. We want to meet the person to make you happy,” he reached out, out past Bokuto to lay a hand upon Kuroo’s arm.

The man stared—he stared and stared and _stared_. Golden eyes unblinking. He turned, sighing, suddenly snapping from his own inner thoughts. “I’ll see if he could call in sick. Or we meet for dinner.” He adjusted his bag, and walked out. He walked out of the apartment with a wave over his tense shoulders and the thought… the thought of not wanting to share that small hope of _someone_ with anyone else.

He had grown spoiled, starved of the attention and affection for so long that he didn’t want to run the risk of the man seeing him how he was. Kuroo wasn’t… he was _flawed_. He was damaged and muddled. He was broken, shattered—just a shell of a man playing at being fine for so long that he at times even believed he was.

**[** _Runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'  
Runnin' from my heart._ **]**

Kuroo fell in love on a Friday. Maybe before that, but that Friday was the day that it hit him. Struck a chord in him. Ushijima had taken the news of his friends wishing to meet him with a mixture of shock and excitement, pulling out his phone and calling into his work and informing them that he’d be working from home that weekend—he shook his head after hanging up, stating that he had no plans of working. He had even asked if they wanted to meet _his_ friends as well.

What kind of angel did that?!

—the Ushijima kind it seems.

They were sitting side-by-side, a movie playing on the large flat screen television, Kuroo staring at the man in a complete and utter lovestruck awe. This was the moment; that insistence that he’s laughed about with his friends, that he’s longed to have again. “Before,” he swallowed, “before you meet them I just want to make sure... I can introduce you as my boyfriend right? I’ve been assuming yes—but I want to make sure.”

Ushijima’s face twits, passivity cracking under the weight of laughter. His deep voice rumbling, penetrating deep within Kuroo’s own chest. “Yes. Yes you can,” he smiled, chest raised just a pinch higher than normal as he inhaled. Pride?

Kuroo’s smile matched the man’s own, throwing a leg over the man’s lap and plopping down so he sat comfortably there, Kuroo pulled him in. Dragging the man’s face to meet his in a press of lips, a slide of tongues. Ushijima’s large hands grip his hips, holding him tight as they fall all the further into the other. “Your name is Tetsurou, yes?” He panted against his lips when they finally parted, brown eyes still shut as he drank in the comfort deriving from the other man. Kuroo nodded, humming in the affirmative. “May I call you by that name now?”

Kuroo swallowed, nodding mutely. _First name_. His face erupted into a brilliant red, smile painfully wide on his face. “Wakatoshi,” he whispered to himself, testing out the name on his tongue. The man before him flustered, Kuroo blushed right back—it was like they were in middle school all over again. Here they were, grown men, sitting around blushing at each other.

Kuroo was a broken man; he was angry and depressed, stuck in a dark place deep within himself with no hope of recovery. His broken dreams stacked up in the corner, stuffed into a closest where he locked the memories away and wished that it’ll all just go away. He had scars, weakness in his legs from an injury that never seemed to wish to heal.

Kuroo was scared and brittle, his heart held together with staples and tape and a stubbornness that ran deep enough to burn. Haunted by the past, fearful of the future. Kuroo mastered his brave face and would continue on—he’d go on, go on, go on surviving.

Ushijima cupped his cheek caressing his cheek, “Tetsurou,” he whispered. Breathing into the dark haired man’s mouth, his lips like feathers against Kuroo’s, pressure growing steady. He loves him—there was no denying it. Not to himself, not anymore. Not when the man’s lips pressed all the firmer against his, lowering him down to the couch. “Tetsurou,” his pads of his fingers tough from years of activity, grazing over his skin, pulling off layers of clothing.

Lips trailing over skin, traveling further south. Exploring the ink marring his skin, tracing over the patterns and figures as more clothes seemed to fall away and reveal all the more. Skin and ink, ink and skin. Kuroo moaned the man’s first name, _his first name_ , when he pressed a kiss to his naked hip.

He love oral; loved going down on his partner, loved eating them out. But when the action was reversed and Kuroo was under the heat of red hot lips and tongue, an exploring mouth, well… Kuroo didn’t know how to function. Like the wires holding him up to his marionette cross were cut, like he was falling. Falling and falling and _falling_.

But not even Kuroo was dumb enough to turn down a blowjob; no amount of odd feelings would make him turn down the feeling of Ushijima’s tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, not when he’s cheeks held the most spectacular of pinks high upon his cheek bones.

His fingers itched to write so he tangled them in the man’s brown hair, he gripped the man’s shoulder and moaned his given name. “Wakatoshi—‘Toshi. Just like that. You’re so beautiful—fuck, _fuck!_ You’re perfect.” He was babbling; anything to keep the itch at his fingertips at bay.

 _Perfect_.

 **[** _Woah ohhhhh,_  
I'm coming alive.  
Woah ohhhhh,  
Wake up now and live oh! **]**

They rented out one of the larger private Karaoke rooms, a row of shots already laid out before them when Ushijima and Kuroo finally met up with them. There was Kenma, Akaashi and Bokuto (of course), followed by Oikawa and Terushima (excited that his suggestion of Karaoke had been heard) and the two friends of Ushijima that Kuroo had met that one random evening.

Oikawa and Bokuto froze, staring at Ushijima with twin looks of shock and confusion. They recognized him. “It’s been awhile Ushiwaka,” Oikawa’s eyebrow twitched like it tended to do when he was conversing with someone he didn’t particularly like.

“Since your retirement, yes.” Ushijima took a seat away from the main mass, a spot left open by his side for either Kuroo to take or just more of a gap from him and the two staring at him like a ghost. “How is your knee?” Oikawa just frowned all the further.

“Fine.” His bite made Kuroo sigh, reaching for an untouched bottle of beer sitting alongside the shots. He felt like walking out; he hated himself for putting that thought in his head that things would go wrong. “I heard your retirement was from a tear in your shoulder.”

So he used to play volleyball professionally alongside Oikawa and Bokuto at national country representing level—Kuroo took another swing. One of those little broken dreams he had locked away started rattling. He clenched his jaw. “True. The surgery went well.” Ushijima looked up at him then, tilting his head in confusion at the troubled expression, the clench of his jaw. He pointedly glanced to the open spot beside him, wiping his palms on his dark jeans.

Kuroo sighed, falling into the seat by the man’s side and leaning to rest against him. Still nursing that beer that he plucked from the table. Akaashi—blessed Akaashi, the holder of his bro’s heart, and the current savior of Kuroo’s soul—mentioned the fact that they were here to have fun and sing, not to awkwardly stare at Ushijima.

The had quickly started handing Kuroo one drink after the other, getting the man to sing one song after the other while a few others just sat around enjoying the comforts of the group. Oikawa and Bokuto eventually forcing the lead singer to perform one song in particular that wasn’t covered in his vocal range—and American song called _I believe in a Thing Called Love_ by a band called The Darkness. The man handled it with a booze induced smirk, pinching his voice for it to pitch up higher than he ever thought possible.

The night progressing further and further into an alcohol induced faze, the earlier awkwardness seeming to be all in the past.

 **[** _Woah ohhhhh,_  
I'm coming alive.  
Woah ohhhhh,  
Wake up now and live oh! **]**

His fingers itched to write, itched to create and express. His heart clenched, his breath caught. Pulling out his earphones, Kuroo attempted to drive the sensations and urges away with music that was not his own. _“Yeah, you can be the greatest. You can be the best. You can be the King Kong banging on your chest,”_ he knew [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jukv9Q1eR2g) off by heart, _“You can beat the world. You can beat the war. You can talk to God, go banging on his door.”_

He knew too many songs off by heart.

Putting away laundry, Kuroo ignored the stream of sunlight hitting his cheek as he refused to cave—he couldn’t write more songs about a love in his life. All of them left. He couldn’t sing of old ones; it just made him want to just tear out his still beating heart and launch it at wall.

He didn’t hear the knock on his door nor spot the blond and black head of hair slip through the crack and close the door behind him, until the small man was seated on his bed. Large cat-like eyes staring up at him, watching. He pulled the headphones out of his ears, letting them dangle around his neck. “Hey Ken. Singing to loud?”

The other shook his head in the negative. “You seem down,” Kenma weaved his fingers together in his lap, getting comfortable on the bedding. “You’ve been like this for a long time but there’s something fresh digging at you. I want to know what, and _why_.” He could never hide from him.

Kuroo stared. Music blaring through his earphones, playing a new song, another he knew. Another he’d drown out any ambitions to write with. Kuroo licked his lips, glancing to the closed door, back to the bed, to the window. Sighing, he sat, joining his younger brother-like figure on his bed. “I don’t… I don’t want another Kei.” _I can’t survive another Kei_.

—couldn’t survive the sudden departure. The lack of inspiration, the will to play or sing or perform. He couldn’t survive another lover leaving the country because Kuroo wasn’t good enough. Like he was just standing still while everyone else raced on to their own lives. So far ahead. So out of reach. Never looking back.

“Does he make you want to write again?” Kenma inquired, his soft pale hand reaching out to take hold of his wrist. Holding him steady as he dug in deep. Pulling at the hole Kei had left—a love, a boy Kuroo had so innocently assumed was _The One_. The other hole he had always thought needed to be filled by one love, one significant after the other—none staying, always leaving.

Kuroo nodded staring down at the man’s purple painted finger nails. They looked new—maybe Kenma had seen Yamaguchi recently (that name stung too, another person who hurt when Kei left to the other side of the world to follow a job), or maybe Yachi had painted them.

Kenma hesitated before his next point, pulling Kuroo’s gaze away from his hand, “Do you love him?” Kenma didn’t feel romantic love. Didn’t need to, didn’t want to. Certainly not after all the pain it’ll cause Kuroo when he went chasing after his heart, believing that he needed someone to fill some hole in his heart.

Kuroo nodded, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I’m _scared_ Kenma. What if he decides that I’m not worth loving either?” He didn’t believe in writing heartbreaking songs; didn’t see the point in making others feel the pain that his heart was held together with.

Kenma stared. “I love you,” he said it naturally. He did love him. He loved him like he was his best friend, like he was his older brother. They were friends, they were family. Kenma loved Kuroo. Kuroo loved Kenma. It pained him that he couldn’t offer him the love Kuroo seemed to need so desperately.

“I love you,” Kuroo replied, leaning towards the other, leaning his cheek upon his shoulder. Soaking up the affection, the comfort like a sponge. He twist his face, burying it in the junction where neck meets shoulders, shoulders shaking. His whole body curling up around Kenma; the first sob tore its way out of his throat. “I don’t want to lose him. K-K-en-n-ma.” He chokes over his sobs, over his words. Sucking in a breath and the next bout of tears, of sobs, are painful to even hold Kuroo through. “W-why can’t I be loved? Wh-hy-y can’t people love m-m-me-me to-o-oo?”

He dates friends thinking that they already love him. He falls in love with his friends thinking that even if they don’t love him like a lover than at least he’d have them as a friend. But it _hurts_. It hurts to watch Bokuto and Akaashi being so in love with each other when he wasn’t over Bokuto. It hurt to know that Kuroo had been the one to get them together while so hopelessly in love with his best friend only to step out of the relationship knowing that Bokuto would never love him like he did Akaashi. It hurt that Terushima never wanted a romantic relationship with him to begin with. It hurt knowing that Oikawa didn’t want anything but that one drunken night of sex with him. It hurt that the man he had loved since High School didn’t want to spend his life with him. It hurt. _It hurts._

It _hurt_.

It hurts so fucking _much_.

It hurt to think that Ushijima could be just another man who’d push him away when he’d tell him how he loved him; how’d he’d never be able to love him back as much as Kuroo cared for the man. He just wanted someone with whom he could give and take equally—someone to love, someone to love him in return. Someone that wouldn’t mind the flaws, the scars, the ink and the staples holding together Kuroo’s heart.

_It hurts._

**[** _I've been standing here my whole life,  
My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after._ **]**

Ushijima tells him on a Saturday that he loves him. He had started taking Saturdays off along with Fridays, spending the day with his lover in his apartment doing a range of activities—from domestic chores of laundry and napping, to diner and movies, to a night of going out and sex.

Kuroo’s over for the week that time; a pen in hand as he slowly writes lyrics in a half sized notebook. The dam holding his itching fingers at bay seeming to break weeks ago, some time when he had gone back to his apartment and returned looking worn down and emotionally raw. Ushijima tells him while he’s watching the man write, tapping out a beat on his leg. The book Ushijima had been reading long forgotten in his lap, his attention stolen by his ebony haired beauty.

“I love you,” he states, like the weather. Like he was telling the man it was overcast—that the sun outside those very windows was setting. The man doesn’t seem to register the statement, not for a minute, not for two. But when he does Kuroo’s whole being seized. His golden eyes wide, head swivelling up and around to stare. To gape.

The pencil in his hand falls, rolls off the notebook and to the floor. When Ushijima’s gaze returned to the man’s face he has tears gathered in the corners. Like the very thought of Ushijima loving him was absurd—like he hadn’t ever thought to hear the words.

So Ushijima says it again. He says it again, and he’ll say it as many times as he could. He loved Kuroo Tetsurou. “I love you,” so he says. “I love you Tetsurou,” so he means.

Kuroo’s notebook falls to the floor when Ushijima pulls the other to his lap, his own book falling away as he wraps the sobbing man in his embrace. Holding him tight; he doesn’t ask why he’s crying—he has a feeling that Kuroo will eventually share it. So he tells Kuroo that he loves him; again and again. Again and again and again. As many times as he needs to to drive the point across.

Kuroo’s calloused fingers cling to his shirt, to his sweater, the hair along the base of his skull. His tear soaked cheek pressed to Ushijima’s neck; he held him, clinging to the man in his lap, while he sobbed. While his body shook and shuttered with one throat tearing sob after the other.

He reached a hand up, petting the messy black locks, kissing the man’s temple. “I love you,” he felt against his neck, “I love you too.” Ushijima’s eyes slid closed, pretending that he didn’t hear the confession. Only showering the man with his own. Kuroo needed to hear it, needed to hear his feelings—it wasn’t about Ushijima, wasn’t about his happiness at hearing that whisper against his skin, it was about how much Kuroo _needed_ to believe those words that were coming from Ushijima’s heart, from his mouth.

 **[** _I've been standing here my whole life,_  
Everything I've seen twice, now it's time I realize  
It's spinning back around now, on this road I'm crawling  
Save me cause I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right **]**

Three days later Kuroo ask him, “Why do you call me perfect? I’m broken. I have flaws and doubts and imperfections. I’m angry and bitter; I don’t deserve your praise.” They’re curled up in bed; both had worked that day, Kuroo working until 10PM and Ushijima had elected to people watch at the bar until he and Kuroo could leave together.

“You are,” the man whispered against Kuroo’s neck. Ushijima had caught on quickly that the man liked to be the little spoon in their cuddles, liked to have Ushijima wrapped around him, his larger form like a barrier from everything else. “Your flaws are a part of who you are and thus it makes you perfect.”

Kuroo snorts, “don’t glorify my bad characteristics.”

“I’m not. I’m just stating that what makes you _you_ is perfect. I will not condone or glorify it, I’m just merely stating that you as a whole—flaws, imperfections, and doubts—all of you makes you perfect to me. I love you because you’re _you_ , not because you’re anyone else.” He pushed himself up onto his elbow, looking down at the man beside him. “And I’ll prove it the rest of my life if you’ll allow me to.”

 _For the rest of my life_.

Those golden eyes of his widens, narrows, then he huffs. Pouting and turning back to his side, pulling a face of force indifference. But Ushijima spotted it in the dark, in a flash; the fear, the joy. He leaned in, lips ghosting over the shell of Kuroo’s ear. “I love you Tetsurou,” he kissed the lobe, kissed behind the man’s ear, his neck, his jaw.

“God, go to bed!” It was only when silence returned, when Ushijima was snug against the man’s back did Kuroo reply. “I love you too though, for the record.”

 **[** _Cause I keep runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'_  
Runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'  
Runnin' from my heart. **]**

“Here’s a little something that my bro Kenma told me to start doing; it’s different than our normal stuff, so I’m sorry for the feels.” He smiled at the crowd, the regular venue of theirs down in the basement floor of a club they really had lucked out getting in close with. It was big, it was popular. They had even gotten a few opening gigs for a few big named bands because they spotted them playing here.

Yaku and Kai were ecstatic to see a whole notebook full of new original songs; they had been appeasing the crowd with some of their own written works but everyone could tell the muse of Kuroo’s life had been torn from him, his passion for lyrics and writing had shot south and kicked the bucket. _This is…_ Kuroo had nodded. They were depressing, they were from his little torn and stapled together heart. They were about Kei and Bokuto, they were about his injury in High School that stole his dreams of a career in Volleyball prematurely, and they were about his family and friends—about the downers in life.

“I never really wanted to resort to having to write negative feelings into songs, didn’t wanna really make you guys sad. But those that have been stopping by those livestreams have been nothing but supportive of me, the band, and my own mental health. So, this is for them as well.” The practice for this songs were like a breath of fresh air; writing again, playing again. Yaku and Kai dove into these songs, hours and days seeming to blur as the three returned to feeling like how they used to.

 _“A little bit of somethin’ buried a whole lot of nothin’,”_ Kuroo fought the bitter chuckle, biting the corner of his lip to fight down the urge. There was just something about this song that made him so bite-y. Made him want to snap and cursing; he had been feeling that way the whole time he was pouring those bottled up feelings on to the paper. His lips moving, singing lyrics while his eyes roamed over the crowd.

They weren’t dancing, just watching. Made him a bit proud that this lively crowd was rooted in place from a new song lacking its normal bubbly personality. _“Standing with your back pressed to the wall,”_ he licked his lips, feeling like his mouth was going dry but he could feel the saliva pooling under his tongue.

His roommates were there; Bokuto had been excited to hear his new stuff, as Kuroo had been keeping it away from him. He hadn’t yet gotten to the point in their set that he will make reference to Bokuto, but he will and it was obvious. It had been so obvious that Yaku had pulled him into a hug as soon as he has finished reading it over. _I’m not surprised you’re not over him._

Kuroo wasn’t even sure if he was over anyone—you love people a little differently each time. You never really forget that either, it’s there despite how much you don’t want it to be. It’s there when you tell yourself you hate them, but just the thought of them hating _you_ makes Kuroo’s heart hurt.

One song, another song—they added some of their older original works in that had the crowd whooping and hollering. Kuroo thought of Ushijima during it; thought of the small hint of a smile that slowly and steadily with time grew wider and wider. He thought of Ushijima when he sang of mush and gush, thought of how his heart thundered against his chest when the man would tell him he loved him. Over and over and over again—just so Kuroo would get it stuck in his head that the man loved him.

He knew Kuroo had fears, knew the doubts were that people wouldn’t love him. And with every breath, with every touch and kiss and taste, Kuroo’s doubts and fears would simmer and eventually cool. But they were still there, they were still there—but maybe they won’t be there forever.

It was an hour set. An hour flew by so quick; so quick and they haven’t even planned for all the new songs that Kuroo had come up with—when a dam breaks a flood occurs. A flood had occurred and now Kuroo was trying to sow his crops after it.

 **[** _Cause I keep runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'_  
Runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin'  
Runnin' from my heart. **]**

Kuroo started chuckling suddenly, a pair of Ushijima’s _fun_ boxers (he has a few of them, he’s been wearing them more now that Kuroo’s been staying over most of the week) held up in his hands. “So cute,” he cooed, smirking at his partner who was folding on of Kuroo’s tank tops. One of the many.

Just Kuroo’s shirts alone took up one full drawer in the second dresser Ushijima had finally put together—he hadn’t needed it before, but with Kuroo spending five of the seven days a week at the apartment it had become necessary. “Shut up,” the business man snapped tossing a balled up pair of socks at his lover when the man went to put his boxers on his head.

He didn’t catch him in time to stop the action but he did peg him in the forehead. Kuroo frowned, “’Toshi don’t be mean.” He plucked the socks back up and returned it to the pile of socks, he pulled out one of Ushijima’s sweaters and pulled it on. “I was looking for this one.” It was his favourite; a blood red with a giant off centered X across the torso. He had seen Ushijima wearing it once before it had unofficially become his.

Kuroo stared mournfully at the basket of clean and unfolded clothes, sudden pout dramatically pulling at his lips. “I kinda miss doing laundry with my Mum. I used to wear her bras either on my head or around my chest. She had a bunch of those pictures saved on her phone the last time I checked.” He reached into the basket, pulling out one of his own pair of pants. “Would you like to visit them with me? Mum and Dad are in Germany taking care of my Grandmother so we’ll have to plan but—”

Ushijima set the shirt he had folded onto the pile. “I would love to,” he smiled, gaze suddenly darting to the left one of his cats started making a run to the basket. “Tetsu.” Kuroo snorted, catching the orange and black cat before it could make all their clothes all furry.

Kuroo kissed the top of the cat’s head. “Poor Spud has to wait until the clothes are on to make all furry~” He teased the feline, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ushijima’s boxers flopping around on his head with the moment. He looked down at the man seated upon the couch, legs covered in one of Kuroo’s many sweatpants and a stretched out shirt with a sauce stain on the left arm from that little food fight they had gotten into the last month.

Ushijima caught his gaze, smiling at him. “I love you.”

Kuroo snorted, lips pressed to the top of the cat’s head as his cheeks started to heat. “I love you too, you nerd.”

**[ _Kuroo wasn’t running,_** _and Ushijima never thought to try **]**_


End file.
